“On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha…”
Dateline: Here and There
“A journey is a person in itself, no two are alike…”
Columbusing: discovering something not new.
I have ridden the plains of America, from the sky.
30,000 feet, a High Plains Flyer.
I have watched the plains unfold while drinking Coca-Cola and eating pretzels, a western movie playing silently in an oval circle.
Never to touch the brown, the green, the level land below.
Until this week.
Until this drive to the Basssmaster Classic.
“…but your thoughts will soon be wandering…”
I began this Classic drive a week ago today as I waved goodbye to my wife Barb and our dog, Riley.
I have over 3,000 songs on my song playing thing, have over 30 cd’s of albums I transferred from vinyl, and yet with all that sound, the first 60 miles or so, are always quiet inside the Tundra.
I’ll be gone 4 weeks this time out, back home for a few days, then out again for 7 weeks.
The first hour of the drive is always the worst, eyes red staring straight ahead.
So you know, full disclosure I always travel with a blessed healing blanket, with a blessed crucifix, the first hour of the drive is always a conversation with the man above.
All departures from home start with a simple prayer, bring me home safe please.
Bring me home.
Amen.
“…the way they always do…”
This classic drive could have been shorter, could have been a straight shot I-80 W forever, but I took about an hour and a half detour to stop and see these people…
…Brian and Gail Leopold.
I have known this couple since 1992, I worked with both of them at WPXI-TV in Pittsburgh, and once again with Brian at ESPN.
Brian is an Emmy winning Producer, a published author, a good friend, and the guy who possibly saved my television career.
I was out of TV, out of work sitting in a cul-de-sac, I tried new things in an old town, and it didn’t work.
The next job I got was “a favor job.”
Mark at the Pittsburgh station paid me very little money but owed me one, Brian was my boss, I’m not even sure he knew I was coming, I never met him before, nor he me.
After Mark introduced Brian to his new employee, alone in Brian’s office as he looked at the burned out slouch I wore, all he said was, “Show me what you’ve got.”
Deliver.
And then he got out of the way.
Pretty much everything that has happened to me since that sentence in 1992, I owe to Brian, so I drove my butt 100 miles out of the way to shake his hand, give him a hug, and just say thanks.
Brian Leopold, Thank You.
Hey, if someone gave you a shot, did you a favor, go back and say thank you, then pass it on.
Pass it on.
There you go.
“…when you’re riding sixteen hours…”
I am geographically challenged.
This classic drive had two parts, part one, drive to Spirit Lake, Iowa and do a couple stories with the dudes at Pure Fishing (those cool stories to come once this Classic gig is over).
Part two, drive to Tulsa, Oklahoma and the 2016 Bassmaster Classic.
No big deal ‘cept in my mind I was thinking that Iowa was just on the other side of Pennsylvania. Turned out, that was Ohio.
Then Illinois.
Then Indiana.
Then Iowa.
Not sure of the order, but I know I drove through those states.
I’m a little geographically foggy when it gets west of the Hudson, certainly when it gets west of Buffalo.
I scooted through both Indiana and Illinois a day before a huge snowstorm, nothing much happened in Illinois, don’t think I spent much time there, Indiana was a whole other deal.
Hey Indiana, you need to be ashamed of your rest stops man, come on dudes, you tax as much as the East Coast, CLEAN THEM.
But, check this out, I run in and out of the rest room somewhere on I-80 W and I see this guy standing looking at my truck: “What’s Tackle The Storm Foundation.”
I tell him it’s a foundation that I’m part of that helps put kids back fishing after losing their fishing stuff to storms in their lives: “Fishing rods and reels are the magic wands of childhood,” I say as I try to wipe my wet hands on my pants since the hot air blower drying thing wasn’t working.
I jump in the truck, start it up and the guy is still standing there, suddenly he knocks on my driver’s side window.
“Here.”
And his hand comes inside the window and in it a $10-bill. “If you can use this to help the kids fish again.”
I asked his name, he wouldn’t tell me.
I tried to give him a receipt, he wouldn’t take it.
“No need for any of that, just help the kids.”
And as I watched he walked down a couple of parking spots got into a burgundy Buick Century several years past prime, and drove away.
I took a ten dollar bill out of my wallet and deposited that into the Tackle The Storm Bank of America account.
The actual ten-spot from the stranger, that bill will be framed as part of the history of the foundation, the label will say simply, “From a stranger, Indiana I-80 West Rest Stop.”
Next stop, Iowa, on this classic drive.
“…and there’s nothing there to do…”
Spirit Lake, Iowa.
Pure Fishing R&D HQ. They make stuff here, and figure out how to make it better.
1,483 miles from home.
According to Mapquest I just drove 14 miles past the hallway point to CALIFORNIA.
Arrived there on Wednesday, wasn’t until Thursday at 1:30PM before both my butt cheeks got feeling back into them.
30 hours of windshield time does that to you.
I got the red carpet treatment at Pure Fishing, and I’ll tell that story soon, but if I had to pick out a moment, a moment that I will always remember from this classic drive, that moment would be this photograph….
…out on the factory floor some of the bosses jumped in to keep the soft plastic lines running because I wanted to take a photo with the line workers there, the working stiffs you never see.
You’re looking at 134 years of experience on that line, averages 12 years a person, Ruth, the tiny lady up front, has been there 34 years now.
I told them, “You have brought joy, happiness, and a whole bunch of fish to thousands of anglers all over the world and I just want to tell, thank you for that, I thank you and I know if given the chance, those anglers would thank you as well.”
Here’s their faces.
This is what they look like.
Remember them the next time you open the package of plastic worms, machines didn’t make those worms, these people did.
Say thanks, to the working stiffs.
“…here I am…”
Iowa, Hwy 50.
5:15AM.
Temp 17, wind out of everywhere at 12mph.
Before Pure Fishing.
Before the working stiffs.
Before all that I snuck out of my hotel room and drove south on a county highway, south for about 10 miles, south as far as it took to outrun the light of town, of civilization.
I drove into the darkness, stopped, turned off the truck, and stepped out onto the side of the road.
And looked up.
Most of my life I have lived in the glow of light, this morning I ran from it and found what Iowa really grows…SKY.
On a county road I was wrapped in sky.
Stars from horizon to horizon, I was cold, but I was astounded as well. I’m geographically challenged, but I know astronomy, I know what I was looking at.
I was looking at the beginning of time.
I was looking at where we came from.
I was looking at the Big Bang.
And on Highway 50, in the Iowa darkness, if you wrap yourself in sky, and you look long enough, you can see the match that lit the bang.
You can see, the hand of God.
“…on a road again…”
I have never stood in place, and saw both horizons.
Front to back.
I am a man of the boulevard, not so much the plains.
I am a man of 24hr convenience, not so much the plains.
I am a man of the suburbs, not so much the plains.
I have driven, to Mars.
I recognize nothing out here, mile after mile of cows, and brown all around, corn just a memory of months ago.
It’s never ending yonder out here.
522 miles, most driven a few clicks past legal, and it goes on and on for 9 hours.
65MPH to 35MPH in less than a block, but at that speed I can look around.
In Auburn, Kansas, The State Street Theater who I’m sure once played Abbott & Costello now plays Star Wars.
At 35MPH I see green rocking chairs on white porches, in one town a WWII US Army tank in the town park.
At 35MPH American flags are everywhere, as are memorials to the fallen whose lives guaranteed those flags would fly.
At 35MPH trucks and Corvettes on lawns to be sold, billboards for Agricultural mysteries to me being hawked.
It is out here where you find the backbone of America.
The housewives of the plains, are hero’s, not self loving over the top saps.
Plowshares not Porsches made America.
I drive 70MPH through the Oklahoma land rush, I pass the Wagon Train wheel ruts, I complain to my wife on the phone about the drive, but know that 300,000 people in the 1800’s climbed in wagons and took months to go the miles I go in hours.
I am in awe of the pioneers.
In awe of the land around me.
In awe of the folks who live and work here, many of who sweat and strain to put the food I eat on my table.
Many who sweat and strain because of the decisions made on the coasts of America that they never touch.
In the middle, out here, in the plains, is where America begins.
The American spirit, from horizon to horizon.
“…there I go…”
2,015 miles, this classic drive.
It’s late when I get into Tulsa, my hotel is crawling with doctors in black ties at some fancy shindig, down the street where the Bassmaster Classic stage will be, a Country Western singer is front stage.
I’m tired, stiff, ankles swollen, knee crinkles when I move.
As I lay in bed, my body feels like it is still moving, my head still hears the tires on the road.
But when the dreams come, they come…
…from horizon to horizon…
…they come wrapped in the Iowa sky…
…they come with friendship, with compassion from a stranger…
…they come with a forever place in my heart.
May you, one day, take a classic drive.
“…turn the page.”
Turn The Page
Bob Seger
“…that we do not take a trip, a trip takes us.”
John Steinbeck
Welcome to 2016 Bassmaster Classic week,
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